


Yeah, I know

by RunawayJay



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hinny, I just really needed to write something cute, Marriage Proposal, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayJay/pseuds/RunawayJay
Summary: Harry and Ginny, just talking.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Yeah, I know

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fluffy one-shot with some Hinny headcanons of mine that I needed to get out of my head and into some words! I wanted to write more, but this just seems like a perfect ficlet. Hope you enjoy!

When Harry Potter woke from his dream, it was to a sheen of sweat, a phantom pain in his scar, and the everpresent floral smell that told him he was nowhere his nightmare had made him believe he was. Rather, he was at home, in bed, and the Ginny Weasley lying next to him was breathing in shallow, rhythmic breaths, fast asleep.

Harry lay staring at the ceiling as the last tingles of feeling left his scar. It never pained him, but it was instead almost like a ghost limb—the part of him that’d been connected to Voldemort, amputated when he’d last been hit by the Killing Curse. Everything was fuzzy to Harry. He left his glasses off, because he didn’t feel quite ready to see the day yet. He was still letting the images of his dream linger just long enough so he can dismiss them as not real.

He took a deep breath, and rolled towards Ginny. He tucked an arm around her middle, shifting closer to her while bringing her back to his chest. She stirred enough to touch her bare feet to his socked ones (each foot in a different pair: one green with snitches, the other maroon with broomsticks, because Dobby’s old christmas present was Harry’s favorite set of socks and he kept mending them so as not to lose them) and tilted her head so he could press his mouth to her shoulder. She was sleeping in one of his old shirts. One of  _ his _ , because he’d made it a point to outfit himself with clothes that fit him once the war had finished and tossed all of Dudley’s old ones in the bin. Now, the only hand-me-downs he accepted were the occasional ones from Mrs. Weasley, and he usually didn’t mind. He still wore the old watch she and Arthur had given him on his seventeenth. It was different to be given someone’s old things because they thought he’d like them instead of them being forced to cloth him lest the neighbors talk.

Ginny sighed in her half-asleep way, and Harry closed his eyes against her hair. Her voice sounded more awake and louder than he’d expected when she said, “You’re all sweaty, Harry.”

He laughed into her hair, though he only felt amused by her suddenly being wide awake. “Sorry about that.”

“No you aren’t.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Ginny twisted in his arms to face him. This close, he could see her perfectly, down to the freckles across her nose and blushing cheeks.  _ Blushing  _ cheeks. The old monster that never really went away rumbled happily in his chest, knowing that after two years together she still blushed around him sometimes. It was quite the feat. Ginny Weasley had grown up with too many brothers to blush easily.

“Another dream,” she said, because it wasn’t a question. There were only a handful of reasons he’d be sweaty in bed, and considering they’d been sleeping, that narrowed down all the reasons to just one.

Harry nodded, bumping his forehead into hers and closing his eyes.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said, wondering if it was possible to see through smell, and letting her floral scent fill him just to try. “It wasn’t that bad,” he added.

“You’re not weak, Harry,” she said quietly, “just because you talk about something that’s bothering you.”

He opened his eyes, though he really wasn’t ready to. “I know,” he said, then smiled, “I think you’ve smacked me with that one enough times for it to have sunk in.”

“Good,” Ginny replied. He kissed her nose, because why shouldn’t he? “Just checking in that your thick skull hasn’t grown right over it, then.”

Harry laughed. Ginny smiled. And then he was kissing her, because this was their house and their bed. This was their house, in the country not far from the Burrow but far enough for it to be  _ theirs _ , filled with as many moving photographs as they could get their hands on of all the people in their life they’d ever loved. This place was theirs, and why shouldn’t he kiss her first thing in the very early morning? He loved her, and though he knew she knew it, he didn’t think he could ever stop loving her. He knew she knew that, too.

Ginny fanned her fingers through his likely disastrously messy hair, and tugged gently at the roots. Harry only kissed her deeper, and pressed her body into his. When they were like this, no phantom pains or old memories or nightmares meant a thing to either of them anymore. All Harry could think about was the smell of her, the feel of her, and the very loud bit of happiness that fuzzed into being at every point of contact and made him feel like his heart was about to leap from his chest in a very poor attempt at apparition to find hers. This was always one of his favorite things about Ginny Weasley, the way she made him feel touched, and he knew she knew that, too.

Ginny twisted her other hand in his black t-shirt and leaned out of their kiss, breathless and flushed and beautiful. Then, she tipped her head up to press her lips to the scar on his forehead, and Harry bowed his face into the hollow of her throat and closed his prickling eyes. They held each other for moments more, and when Harry looked up with finally-dry eyes, he said what he hadn’t really realized he was going to say.

“Let’s get married, yeah?” He asked, feeling confident in asking in the first place—but still like maybe his heart was being dangled over a pit full of Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Ginny smiled at him in that same sort of cocky half-smile she got while particularly focused on Quidditch. It did things to Harry he couldn’t quite explain.

“Yeah,” she said, and Harry’s heart landed safely back into his chest. “Getting married sounds alright.”

“Does it?” Harry asked, unable to help himself matching her half-smile and failing miserably by grinning.

“Yeah, not bad at all. Mum will be thrilled.”

“I hope so, otherwise her and all your brothers might try to kill me.”

“Going to let my horde of brothers scare you away, Harry?" She teased him, but the growing smile on her face said she didn't mean a word. "I have cousins, too, you know, and Aunts and Uncles and second cousins and third cousins and cousins twice removed and—”

“Alright, I get it,” Harry said, laughing. “I still think your mum is the scariest of all them sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Ginny drawled out, fanning her fingers through his hair again as a crease formed between her freckled brow, “I think you’re right, but she loves you.  _ I  _ love you, Harry.”

Throughout his life, Harry had rarely heard those words until he and Ginny became something more. Of course, he’d always been told he was protected by love, surrounded by love, full of love, and had the capacity to love so fully that he was an unlikely wizard, much more an unlikely man. It was different, to be told all of these things. It was very different to be told how much love was in his life than it was for someone to simply say that they loved him. 

At a certain point not that long ago, Ginny had started saying it all the time, and that was different, too. He knew she knew he loved her too, but he’d only been able to say it with great difficulty on a few occasions. It was like his throat just seized up. He couldn’t get the words out, even if they echoed through his entire self so loudly that all he wanted was to say them. The truth was that Ginny saying  _ I love you _ undid him more than any old nightmare ever could, and it was hard to speak afterwards.

“Gin,” he said, but couldn’t say any more. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into her shoulder, kissing her skin as lightly as he could. 

He felt her laugh, and he felt the soft rumble as she said, “Yeah. I know, Harry.”


End file.
